


(i just can't wait) to take you out on our first double date

by Nordyr



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 04:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12786945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nordyr/pseuds/Nordyr
Summary: “You’re going out on a date with Clarke, but you’re not her date?” Anya’s eyebrows are raised high. “In what way does this seem like a good idea to you?”And that’s the thing.It’s not.





	(i just can't wait) to take you out on our first double date

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having a lot of trouble writing lately so I hope this isn't complete trash. I think I rewrote it about three times and though still not satisfied, I decided to just throw it out there.  
> Cheers.

“Please?” 

“No.”

“Raven, come on,” Clarke whines. “Don’t make me suffer through this all by myself. I told him it’d be a double date.”

Raven finally takes her eyes off her textbook to look at her friend in disbelief. “Uhm. How is that my problem?”

“You’re supposed to be the double-dater.”

“I’m _supposed_ to be studying for my mech exam, and I gotta work tonight.” Raven sighs. She turns to face Clarke, who is chewing rather nervously on a candy cane. “God knows I would never say no to getting to make fun of your date firsthand, but tonight is just not gonna work. Sorry, Griffin.”

The pout Clarke throws at her has no effect on Raven. She groans in frustration and moves to the living room, falling face first down on the couch.

“I don’t see why you need this to be a double date so badly though,” Raven continues, still sitting at the dining table. 

“I don’t know this guy. What if he turns out to be a rapist or a murderer or something? I need protection in case he decides to kidnap me.” Clarke sits up and peeks over the back of the couch to find Raven looking at her with a sarcastically raised eyebrow. “…And I’m awkward, so I need a friend to fill the devastating silence.”

“Now that I can confirm,” Raven nods, “although you should probably worry more about not rambling his ear off about climate change than ending up in silence.”

Clarke frowns, offended. “I do not talk that much about climate change.”

Raven’s silence and the blank stare is enough to let Clarke know she disagrees. 

“Hey, global warming is a perfectly normal subject for two people who just met to talk about. It’s like the weather, but more important,” Clarke defends like it’s obvious. “Polar bears are _dying._ ”

Raven hums something but has already turned her attention back to her schoolbook. Clarke sighs and, without moving off the couch, picks her phone off the coffee table.

 

It’s five minutes later of Clarke scrolling through some social media feeds and tagging Raven in random memes just to make her check her phone while she’s supposed to be studying, that Raven suddenly speaks up. 

“Hey, you know who you could ask?”

“Hm,” Clarke replies halfheartedly.

“Lexa.”

“What?” Her thumb freezes above the touch screen.

“Lexa. Woods. As in your friend.”

Yeah, her friend. Her very pretty and very gay friend who Clarke has quite the crush on. Not that she is planning on screwing up their friendship by admitting that. 

Inviting Lexa to have dinner with her and some random guy she’s meeting to get her mother off her back is probably not the best decision she could make but Clarke is desperate.

“You think she’d want to go?”

Raven shrugs. “I know Lincoln is coming over this weekend. They probably wouldn’t mind going out for dinner.”

 

//

 

“You’re going out on a date with Clarke, but you’re not her date?” Anya’s eyebrows are raised high. “In what way does this seem like a good idea to you?”

Lexa ignores the exasperation in her roommate’s voice and takes her hot cocoa from the microwave. “Her mom set her up. She doesn’t want to go alone.”

“Then she can just cancel on the guy,” Anya argues, following Lexa back to the living room. 

“You wouldn’t think that an option if you’d met Abigail Griffin,” Lexa grimaces. “It’s just dinner. It’s fine.”

“Really? And the fact that you’ve been drooling over Clarke since day one doesn’t make you feel like this could be the slightest bit awkward?”

The hot chocolate burns her tongue. “Clarke’s just a friend.”

“Right,” Anya nods, unconvinced, slightly amused, “and this is just a double date.” 

“Yes.” 

“All right. Then you might as well ask that girl across the hallway who’s been smiling at you like you’re the thing her sex dreams are made of to be your date for tonight.”

Lexa frowns in discomfort, both at the description and the thought of asking the girl out. “But Lincoln-”

“Is having dinner with Octavia.”

Lexa grits her teeth but doesn’t see a reason to argue. “Fine.”

 

//

 

The girl’s name is Claire, (Lexa had found that out by reading the nameplate at the door – which wasn’t even close to ‘Clarke’, she convinced herself – when she stood awkwardly with her hands in her pockets in the hallway, kicking her toes against the carpet), and Claire had grinned brightly, dirty blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders and eyelashes batting when Lexa asked her to be her date for the night.

 

 

An hour later, Claire is wearing boots with heels that echo down the street when they head for Lexa’s car, swaying her hips with confidence, shameless, ten minutes later than Lexa had wanted to leave.

 

//

 

As it turns out, the guy is not a serial killer. Or a rapist, as far as Clarke can tell.

Finn is wearing faded jeans and a sweater vest (Lexa has the same one, Clarke thinks), his hair is dark and curly and Clarke has to smile when he waves her over to the table. 

“I didn’t expect you to be this pretty,” he says and Clarke is not sure how to take that but she chuckles anyway. The restaurant is warm and cozy and Clarke orders a water and takes the seat next to him.

“So are your friends joining us soon?”

Clarke nods. “They should be here any minute.”

 

//

 

The talk on the radio is only covered by the ticking of Lexa’s fingers on the steering wheel, sometimes accompanied by the bouncing of her knee when they stop in front of a red light.

“I didn’t know you were this nervous,” her date says without looking at her, fixing her lipstick in the sun visor mirror.

“I’m not,” Lexa lies, “I just don’t like being late.” 

She turns into the parking lot and looks around for a parking space.

“It’s only seven ten,” Claire shrugs and Lexa manages to force a smile.

They get out of the car and Lexa’s hands disappear into the pockets of her jacket. She frowns against the cold breeze and ignores the way the wind blows her hair in a dozen different directions – unlike Claire, who lets out a high pitched noise of frustration when her hairdo is blown apart.

Lexa is not sure why that amuses her. 

 

//

 

Clarke doesn’t quite control the smile she gets when she notices a familiar face at the entrance. Lexa is talking to the restaurant’s host, her cheeks flushed and her hair frizzy, and Clarke only hears the last part of Finn’s sentence.

“…with anyone before?”

She looks at him, his curious dark eyes waiting for her answer. 

“Uhm, no,” she stutters, studying his reaction for any sign she answered wrong. “My, uh- my friends are here.”

Finn smiles a little and looks up to find their dinner companions approaching. They get up to greet them and suddenly Clarke is not sure if their arrival makes her less or more nervous.

Lexa locks eyes with her and Clarke thinks it’s definitely more, if the increase of her heart rate is anything to go by.

 

Lexa looks good, and it sends a spark of something dangerously close to jealousy through Clarke when she realizes that Lincoln isn’t going to show up tonight, and that the unfamiliar, blonde girl is, in fact, Lexa’s date.

Jazz music plays in the background and suddenly the air feels a bit too suffocating.

She forces the feeling down.

 

Introductions are swift and Lexa greets her with a, “Merry Christmas,” and Clarke has to smile because November seems a little early to start wishing people a merry Christmas, but Clarke’s not going to be the one to tell her that.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” Clarke extends her hand and tells herself she has no reason to dislike the girl Lexa brought. “I’m Clarke.”

She thinks she notices a twitch on the girl’s lips, as if recognizing the name, but it’s too quick for her to be sure. 

“Claire,” the girl replies.

“Claire.” Clarke repeats the name and glances at Lexa for some sort of explanation, but none is given. “Nice to meet you.” 

Lexa doesn’t seem particularly happy to shake Finn’s hand, but then again, she’s always been hard to read. 

They take off their coats and take their seats. Lexa thanks her for the invitation and Claire smiles and Finn chuckles something about the bad weather while they order their drinks and Clarke feels a bit lighter. 

Dinner is going to be fine.

 

 

Dinner is not going to be fine.

She does talk too much about climate change, Clarke realizes, because she has to consciously suppress the tendency to fill every silence with it.

And it’s very silent.

The only thing Clarke has really been focused on so far is the way Lexa has rolled up her shirt sleeves which made part of the tattoo on her upper arm crawl out.

And how the girl next to her – _Claire?_ Clarke is having a hard time taking her seriously – just doesn’t seem like the type Lexa would go for.

But then again, what does she know.

“So what do you do, Finn?” Lexa asks, and though the way she says it almost makes it sound threatening, Clarke is not sure why she hadn’t asked that yet herself. 

She wants to blame it on her nerves, but maybe it’s lack of interest.

“I’m a lawyer,” Finn answers, and all eyes move to the boy next to her. 

“Oh,” Clarke says, “Lexa is studying law, too.”

Lexa merely nods when Finn looks at her and the boy cuts off another piece of steak. “That’s cool. It’s a demanding career choice.” 

“Clarke is an artist,” Lexa comments plainly and with a hint of pride, and Clarke freezes mid-bite.

She forces a smile as Finn looks at her with polite interest. “Not- Not exactly. I just sell some of my art on the side. I’m a med student by day.”

Finn takes it with an upturn of his lips and says, “That sounds nice.”

Clarke isn’t sure why Lexa thought it a good idea to tell a guy of the same age as them who just admitted to being a lawyer that she’s an artist, whatever that’s supposed to entail (low-income and a poor lifestyle, she imagines Finn must think).

Then again, 

_If he cannot accept you for who you are, then what’s the point, Clarke?_

Yeah, she can almost hear her say it. 

 

Finn spends the next ten minutes talking about one of his cases, something about defending the distributers of a new drug which side effects really aren’t that harmful, and Clarke watches Lexa’s jaw clench and release, delicate fingers skimming along the spine of her knife.

 

 

“So how long have you been a lawyer, Finn?” Claire, the girl who has been laughing a bit too hard at his poor attempts to sound amusing, speaks up, eyes lit with interest and leaning a little further forward. “I’ve always been particularly fascinated by men who get to wear suits all day.”

 _Really?_

Clarke’s eyebrows rise and she turns to the friend across from her, whose face is blank. 

_Did you know that, Lexa?_

Lexa merely sips her drink. 

Finn laughs. “Well, I’ve been working for my dad for about two years now.”

“Your dad?” Claire prompts again.

“Yeah...” He smiles, reserved but self-pleased. “Now, I know what you’re thinking - I’m a little young to be an attorney already, but that’s just part of the Collins tradition.”

The sound of Lexa’s glass falling over directs everyone’s attention.

She mumbles a curse under her breath, wiping furiously at her dress shirt. Clarke tries to hand her another napkin, but Lexa says, “It’s fine, it’s just water.”

Her date, Claire, seems almost annoyed at the interruption and tries to kick-start the conversation again, but it’s only a few moments later when Lexa clears her throat. 

“I think perhaps I should go clean this up,” she says, ears still flushed. “Clarke, join me?”

Not really waiting for an answer and not really making it sound like a request, Lexa stands up and heads for the bathroom. Clarke smiles and excuses herself, unexpected and awkward, but neither of the other two dinner companions seem to care.

 

//

 

“You didn’t tell me you were on a date with Matt Collins’ son,” Lexa hisses at her once the bathroom door is closed behind them. 

“I didn’t even know he was _anyone’s_ son,” Clarke retaliates, indignant. “Hell, I don’t even know who this Collins guy is.” 

“Matthew Collins is my father’s biggest rival who has been dying to see him fall for decades. He is the enemy, Clarke.”

Lexa runs a hand through her hair and Clarke observes her, an odd fire settling in her bones. 

“That’s why you’re angry? Because you’re sitting at a table with some guy who is potentially bad for your dad’s business?”

“No, I just find it disturbing you don’t even know who you’re out on a date with.”

For a moment Clarke thinks she can spot some sort of emotion in her friend’s eyes, something in between concern and… jealousy? She blinks, trying to figure it out, yet it doesn’t stop her from biting back. “Well, at least I didn’t bring Miss Barbie to dinner.”

“Her name is Claire and you know that,” Lexa scoffs, her face slowly falling into familiar stoicism again. It infuriates Clarke, the way Lexa can seemingly just choose to stop caring.

“Right, Claire.” Clarke stumbles over her words in exasperation. “Does she- Does she know she’s supposed to be your date?”

“Oh, come on,” Lexa murmurs, turning to wash her hands for no clear reason.

“No, seriously, Lexa. She’s practically drooling over every word Finn says.” Clarke tries to catch her eyes in the mirror above the sink, but Lexa stubbornly keeps them on her hands. “How do you even know this girl?”

“She…smiles at me a lot,” Lexa mumbles, moving to dry off her hands on some paper towels. Then, apparently remembering the spilled water on her shirt, she starts unbuttoning her dress shirt. 

Clarke’s eyes fall to Lexa’s nimble fingers. _She’s undressing._ It catches her off guard, makes her cheeks burn with scenarios in her head and jumbles up her train of thought. She convinces herself it’s agitation, although she’s not sure how to justify that either.

“So now you’re just asking out every girl who smiles at you?” 

Collarbone skin and black tank top revealed, Lexa doesn’t back down. “Clarke, what does it matter to you?”

“It matters because I smile at you all the time, Lexa, but you never bothered to ask me out,” she challenges, complete with eyebrow quirk, taking a few steps forward. And it’s true, there have been lingering touches and meaningful stares but Lexa always pulls away. 

To be fair though, Clarke never had the guts to do anything about it either.

Lexa doesn’t miss a beat. “Maybe that is because you’re too busy meeting up with guys your mother lines up for you.”

“At least his name is not ‘Alex’ and a poor lookalike of the girl I wish I was dating,” Clarke retorts in the heat of the moment, eyes boring into Lexa’s, and for a moment she fears she’s gone too far, said too much, but then Lexa steps impossibly closer to her. 

“That was coincidental,” Lexa growls, angry breath cascading over Clarke’s lips and sending hot shivers down her back. 

Clarke is not sure which of them realizes it first, but Lexa raises her chin a little and blinks slowly in admittance, not taking back her words and all Clarke can think is, _oh._

The silence that follows is heavy with tension and neither of them try to step away. Instead, Lexa just holds her eyes, a hooded gaze and flushed cheeks, and Clarke doesn’t think Lexa’s ever let her this close.

Her eyes fall to Lexa’s lips and she wonders how long they've been dancing around this.

“So she’s not your girlfriend?” Their chests are almost touching and Clarke is surprised by the huskiness of her own voice.

“No.” It’s something in between a hoarse whisper and a quiet statement, and Clarke lets out a breath.

“Good.”

She crashes their mouths together, careless and scorching, not heeding the way she pushes Lexa into the wall behind her. It’s a lot more desperate than she had intended, but her fingertips are tingling with excitement and she has a ridiculously hard time holding back. The side of Lexa’s tank top caught in her fist to keep her pulled in close, Clarke feels the other girl gasp before returning the kiss with equal force. 

In a matter of seconds their positions are reversed, Lexa’s hands on her hips to keep her trapped against the wall and a tongue running against Clarke’s lower lip.

Clarke’s head is light with arousal and she doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, tongues meeting and butterflies exploding in her stomach. The softest moan escapes from Lexa’s throat and Clarke feels it resonate to the tips of her toes. She brings a hand up to bury in Lexa’s hair, noses bumping as they change angles. 

“Why,” Clarke gasps between kisses, “haven’t we...been doing this…for so much longer?”

“Because I feared,” Lexa breathes against her mouth, “I would lose you.”

Lexa tugs on her lower lip and Clarke pulls her closer, urgently. 

It’s both an eternity and not long enough. Clarke has only just moved to Lexa’s neck, feeling the girl’s erratic pulse under her lips and fingers fumbling with the waist of her pants when Lexa gasps, “Clarke,” – breath hitching when teeth graze under the edge of her jaw – “we should…we should go back.”

Clarke slows down. She places another kiss, this time soft, not quite ready to step back. 

“Or we could leave,” she mumbles.

Lexa pulls her back to face her, delicate frown in question. 

“We could…climb out that window. Make our great escape,” Clarke says, lips pouted in a smile like a child that knows they’re not allowed to do something but in truth still considers it an option. 

Lexa rests their foreheads together.

“I owe Claire a ride home,” she says, and for some reason it makes Clarke adore her more. Of course Lexa would be that considerate.

She takes a step back and Lexa starts buttoning up her shirt again with poorly controlled, fidgety fingers. At least there’s no longer any hint of spilled water; Clarke thinks it might’ve dried from the heat between them. 

Clarke fixes her shirt and Lexa smoothes a hand through her curly hair. A few more moments of silence, their breathing returning to normal, and Lexa swallows. “Right. Let’s go.” 

She takes a breath and falls into her confident stoicism as she pushes through the bathroom door. 

Clarke feels her cheeks burn and hopes she looks just as collected as she follows after Lexa and mumbles to no one in particular, “I think my pasta’s cold by now.”

 

 

They return to the table, flushed ears and chairs scraping the floor. 

“Everything good?” Finn asks with a friendly smile, unaware of anything – not even the extra button the girl across from him, Claire, has undone in the time they were gone.

“Yeah,” Clarke answers, “everything’s good.”

Lexa finishes whatever was left of her water and when a waiter walks by, Clarke feels the need to order a glass of wine.

 

//

 

“…And maybe someday travel the world,” Clarke muses. “I know it sounds like a cliché but I’ve always thought it’d be nice to do charity work in third world countries.”

Across the table, Lexa smiles at her words, softly but genuinely, and for a moment it’s all Clarke can focus on, her own lips turning to mirror it. 

So far Clarke is feeling fairly successful at keeping the conversation going. They’ve talked about trivial things and it may feel a bit forced to talk about her goals and aspirations in life, but then Lexa shows the hint of a smile and it all falls into place again.

Her hands itch to reach out and hook their fingers together, but she doesn’t.

“That’s nice,” Claire comments, not completely insincere, and making Clarke realize again that there are four of them sitting at the table. 

“I agree,” Finn says, casually scraping the last bit of mashed potatoes off his plate, and proceeds to tell how his father’s business donates something to a random charity each month; and Clarke wishes she had had the guts to blow off meeting Finn in the first place and had asked Lexa to just have dinner with her, alone, in the shabby diner across the street where they play indie rock and serve free fries with everything.

 

//

 

When all four of them stand outside in front of the restaurant’s doors later that evening, the cold night air smells like rain and the single street light nearby illuminates the parking lot.

“It was nice meeting you, Clarke,” Finn says, smile as genuine and friendly as ever, and Clarke returns it. 

“You too, Finn.”

He gives her a short hug, one that reminds Clarke of the way Wells hugs her: sweet and carefree, and chuckles, “Tell Abby I had a nice evening.”

“I suppose Claire and I should take our leave too,” Lexa admits.

“Uhm, actually,” Claire cuts in, grinning, hooking her arm through Finn’s, “Finn has promised to show me his new office building; you know, the one down Main Street?” 

“Right,” Clarke chuckles, not finding a reason to hold it against the girl. “Well, then it was nice meeting you too, Claire.”

They share their final goodbyes, Claire kissing Lexa on the cheek and thanking her for the nice evening, the most interaction she’s had with her all night.

 

“I think this is the weirdest date I’ve ever been on,” Lexa says as they watch the couple walk to Finn’s car.

Clarke huffs out a breath, not thinking about her words. “Well, it’s…definitely not the way I imagined our first date going.”

“You envisioned us dating before?” Lexa’s hands are tucked into her pockets, small drops of rain drizzling on her cheeks and her hair is starting to frizzle again.

Clarke snuggles into the collar of her coat and shrugs. “Maybe. Kinda.”

The smile that breaks out over Lexa’s face is this time unrestrained and Clarke feels like she’s witnessing an extraordinary moment and there’s no one else around to see but her.

“Clarke.”

“Hm?” She turns to Lexa, the streetlight reflecting in warm eyes.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime.”

Clarke grins, taking both of Lexa’s hands. “I think I’d like that.”

She steps closer, nudging her nose against Lexa’s before kissing her softly, shortly. The moment is sweet and smiles play on their lips.

“Just out of curiosity,” Lexa mumbles, “how did you imagine our first date going?”

“Well, for starters,” Clarke responds, “I would’ve had dessert.” 

Lexa glances at the ground, shrugs. “It’s not too late to fix that.”

Clarke quirks an eyebrow. “What’d you have in mind?”

 

 

When Abby calls Clarke on their walk to the ice cream parlor five minutes later and asks how the night went, Clarke says, “He was nice, but it turns out he’s more Claire’s type.” 

“ _Claire?_ ” Abby’s confusion is audible through the phone and Clarke knows she’s not the only one who heard it.

Next to her, Lexa chuckles, and Clarke grabs her hand, bumps their shoulders.

 

//

 

“So. How’d it go?” Anya pauses the movie when Lexa comes in through the front door, seventeen minutes to midnight. 

Lexa shrugs off her coat, lips still tingling from the last kiss she shared with Clarke – heady with the taste of strawberry and chocolate – and tries not to smile like a fool.

“Good.”

“Good?”

Lexa nods and moves to the kitchen, surprised when Anya doesn’t question any further, though they both know she will sooner or later hear all about it from Raven.

For tonight, Lexa likes to keep all that happened to herself; feeling warm and fuzzy with the memory of Clarke’s hand in hers and the stars of a clear night sky in their eyes.

 

Anya unpauses the TV and the sci-fi horror movie continues, low sound filling the apartment.

“About Claire though,” Lexa mumbles, pouring herself a drink, “I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“What do you mean?” Anya frowns, eyes glued to the television. “She likes you.”

“Yes, but not… _that_ way.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s not gay.” 

“You knew that,” Lexa clarifies for herself, confused. 

Anya shrugs. “I just told her you needed a date for the night and that there would be free food. Judging by the glow on your face it worked out fine, didn’t it?”

Lexa scoffs, taking a seat on the other couch and turning half her attention to the movie’s poor special effects, but doesn’t reply.

Her phone chimes with a text message from Clarke, and Lexa’s lips twitch to a smile.

Yeah, she supposes it did.


End file.
